Rating: PG
Summary: Who's playing pranks on the detectives in Cascade's Major Crimes Division? And who will be the first real victim when those pranks become crimes in truth? A short ficlet from Blair's POV.

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Who’s NeXt?

"X" Marks the Spot, October, 2004

Blair Sandburg's brain was shifting into overdrive as he began to reassess the events of the past two days. His class work done for the week and his stomach comfortably full from a satisfying lunch, he found the pieces to a sometimes comical and consistently complicated puzzle finally settling into place.

"Counting coup," He said with an abruptness that clearly caught Jim off guard as they exited the restaurant.

"What?" His partner shot him a look of frustrated confusion before moving ahead along the sidewalk.

"Counting coup," Blair repeated to Jim's retreating back, hastening to match his partner's longer stride. "Ancient tribal warriors used to count coup as a way to gain status in the tribe. To count coup was to get close enough to touch your enemies without actually getting into physical combat."

Jim quickened his pace, his gaze set on the intersection ahead. "And what exactly does that have to do with the price of tea in China?" He sighed as the flashing signal changed, alerting pedestrians that a shift in traffic was imminent.

Blair stepped in front of him to press the button ensuring the 'Walk' signal would reactivate at the end of the current cycle. Then, turning his back to a crowd of pedestrians crossing the adjacent street toward them, he planted himself in front of Jim and tried to explain the connection. "Don't you see? That's what your prankster is doing with those 'X's' he's leaving behind. He's making sure you know he's the one doing it, that it's not just some sort of coincidence or random act of...." He shrugged, unable to find the right word.

"Call it whatever you want, Einstein. All I know is he's gone beyond practical joking. Two days ago he went after things - Conner's flat tire, the slit in Rafe's leather jacket, H's dribble mug--"

Blair couldn't help chuckling, earning him a mischievous smile from Jim in return before his partner got serious again. "But yesterday he upped the stakes with that drive-by on Simon and Joel. He's going after people now, and I don't like that at all."

"Yeah, but it was just a paint-gun, Jim. Whoever is doing this, he's not actually hurting anyone."

Jim nodded, his eyes set beyond Blair to the crowd approaching from the adjacent cross-walk. Even without sentinel senses, Blair could tell that the pedestrians were reaching the curb directly behind him.

"Not yet, maybe," Jim continued. "But I still don't like the pattern. When it all started, he left a card with a green 'X' as his marker. Yesterday, both Simon and Joel found cards with yellow 'X's' in their pockets, proving that the attacks were pre-meditated, and the attacker was still somehow in close contact with everyone in Major Crimes."

"From green to yellow?" Blair asked, his thoughts starting to lead to a darker place. "That could mean today's marker will be red. And if he's upping the stakes...."

Jim's gaze returned to his, focusing on Blair with a familiar yet disturbing intensity. "You got it, Chief. I'm not only worried about what's next, but who's next."

"What? Like you, or--?" Blair didn't get a chance to finish as someone bumped into him, knocking him into Jim's arms and somehow awakening a sharp sting in his lower back.

"Come on, Sandburg." Sounding annoyed, Jim tried to push Blair to his feet, but the sting was so severe Blair found it impossible to respond. He could do nothing more than cling loosely to Jim's arms. For some strange reason, Blair couldn't even get his legs beneath him.

"Sandburg?" Jim's voice went from annoyed to concerned.

Still Blair could not answer. His mind felt numb as he fought to breathe through the shock of whatever had just happened.

"Chief?"

Blair managed to lift his head, meeting Jim's eyes with the bewilderment he couldn't voice. Jim? I think someone stabbed me, man.

Though the words never made it to Blair's lips, Jim somehow seemed to understand. "Jesus, Blair," He said softly before lowering Blair to his knees and then easing him down to where he could lie on the ground.

Through the next moments, Blair found it hard to comprehend what was happening around him. He could almost sense more than hear Jim shouting for help, for witnesses, for something. There was the distant sound of sirens, and the feel of gentle hands assessing his wound. His wound. He'd been wounded, stabbed. It seemed surreal, as though he'd somehow become part of a movie or a warped dream. Only one thing came through to him with absolute clarity. At some point someone found a card in the back pocket of his jeans - a card with a big, red 'X'.

* * *

While Blair was plagued with dreams of 'X's' and traffic lights blinking from green to yellow to red and back again, some part of his mind was still working through the fog of sedatives and pain killers. Through the dreams he managed to weave a pattern of conscious connection. He found himself able to postulate the meaning of the 'X's', turning his dreams into a journey of understanding within a maze of confusion.

Malcolm X ... X marks the spot ... X-rated movies ... X-ray vision ... A runic 'X'-- but no, that wasn't right. A runic 'X' was not symmetrical ... Maybe a teacher's 'X' marking a student's mistake on a test....

He was still missing something. He needed an 'X' associated with the Cascade PD's Major Crimes division. He wasn't completely sure why, but he needed to find a link particularly between that alphabetical symbol and Jim.

Jim. Man, Jim, something's not right here.

Somewhere in the dream Blair began to see a glowing, red 'X' hovering across Jim's chest like some crazy, overblown laser sight. It was an image that juxtaposed itself over the vision of a group of children playing tag. Then even the vision changed, the children merging with the detectives in Major Crimes. "Tag, you're 'it', Jim," Simon said gravely.

You're 'it', Jim.

But what was 'it'?

... A student's mistake on a test....

Blair could see himself sitting at Simon's conference table. There was a stack of papers in front of him and he was marking each of them with a big, red 'X'. Then the door opened behind him, and he turned to see Jim standing there. 'You're 'it', Jim.' He told his friend.

But Jim changed. He became Incacha. As Blair rose to stand before the shaman, the room around him changed too. He found himself back in the jungle.

'The Sentinel is not the key,' Incacha said. And then he was gone.

Jim's not 'it'? Then who is?

Suddenly a warrior's spear pierced Blair's back, and the jungle morphed into a street corner. No, I'm not 'it', man. He couldn't say why, but he knew that was true. Blair Sandburg was not the final target.

The spear vanished as Blair's thoughts returned to the detectives' game of tag. Everyone was playing now, everyone from the janitor to Captain Simon Banks. They all took turns being 'it'. But someone was missing.

"Marcus." The name pulled itself out of Blair's throat as though it were made of sandpaper, leaving a raw strip in its wake, and the dream images faded against an onslaught of white light.

"Welcome back, Blair." That was Jim's voice.

"Did I go somewhere?" Blair answered hoarsely as he slowly worked his eyes open.

"Not this time, Buddy. You were lucky." As Jim's face emerged from the brightness, Blair noticed that he wore a weary smile.

"I don't feel so lucky," Blair said to that smile.

The smile widened. "Doc says it's nothing short of a miracle the knife missed ...," Jim hesitated, seeming unable or unwilling to give Blair all the facts. "...A lot of things that would have made you really unlucky," He finally finished.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Jim nodded.

"Then when do I get to go home?"

"Soon enough. A few days. So who's Marcus?"

"Huh?" The change of subject threw Blair off guard.

"Marcus. That's what you said just now when you woke up."

"Marcus?" Blair tried to wade through the fragmented images still remaining from his dreams. "Oh. Marcus Green. Remember? He's Daryl's friend, the one I tried to tutor last year."

"What got you thinking about Marcus Green?"

"The 'X's. I think he might be your guy, man."

Something about Jim's smile shifted. Was that surprise Blair saw? There was a quirky eyebrow lift and a curious grin. "What makes you say that, Chief?"

"Just a little connect-the-dots, you know? Marcus, he ... he didn't want help. He fought everything I tried to do for him. After I quit tutoring him, he got kicked out of school. Then he got arrested and .... I think he blamed all of us, Jim."

"He did. Daryl most of all. He figured Daryl helped put him on our radar, and you're the reason he didn't graduate."

"Me?"

"Yep. If you never tried to help him get through the right way, he would've continued to slip through his own way, barely a blip on anyone's radar at all."

"Wait a minute. You already had this figured out?"

Jim's smile widened. "Sorry, Einstein. But after what happened to you, this case became everyone's top priority. We were all worried that you wouldn't be the final target, which would mean--"

"Which would mean, since he kept upping the stakes, there'd be no near-miss next time."

"You got it. As soon as I knew you weren't ... going anywhere," Jim shifted his gaze for a moment, looking toward the window before clearing his throat to continue, "I went back to the station." He chuckled softly. "You should've seen us, Chief. There wasn't an argument in the bunch. Even Conner had some good ideas. Green's name came up when I tried one of your meditation tricks to see some of the faces in that crowd. I was sure I saw him. We checked it out, found out that Green had been released from juvie last week, and...," He shrugged. "We connected the dots. We are detectives, after all."

"Right," Blair replied softly. The revelation hurt for some reason, making him feel as though he was no longer needed. "So I guess I shouldn't have bothered," He said flatly.

Jim looked hard at him, his piercing eyes catching and holding him in their gaze. "Chief, you did alone in your sleep what it took a squad-room full of experienced detectives to do." Still keeping that connection and shaking his head at the irony, Jim chuckled again. "I don't know how you do it, Sandburg. But...," His look turned serious once more. "I'm glad you do."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Feeling comforted yet increasingly uncomfortable as a long moment passed in silence, Blair pushed them both beyond it by trying to clear the rough edges from his throat. "Hey," He added then, "he didn't hurt Daryl, did he?"

" Daryl’s fine. A little shook up, but fine."

"Good. That's ... good." And suddenly there was no puzzle left to resolve and no reason to worry over his friends.

A thick wave of relief settled over Blair like a soft blanket. His eyelids began a downward slide. "Hey, Jim?" He mumbled through the thick thing his tongue had become.

"Yeah, Chief?"

"I think I should try for some real sleep now, okay?"

"I'd say you've earned it."

"Thanks, Jim."

"And Blair?"

"Yeah?"

"I...," Jim's eyes darted around the room as he struggled against emotion. It was a battle Blair had rarely witnessed, and very few other people had ever seen at all. A moment later Jim cleared his throat once more and a different course of words emerged. "You don't have to be Einstein all the time, you know."

"Yeah?" Blair smiled, nodding back at his friend. "And you don't have to be Superman."

When Blair raised his hand, Jim grasped it firmly in both of his own.

"Sweet dreams, Sherlock," Jim said as he let go, taking a brief moment to ruffle Blair's hair before turning toward the door.

Blair felt pretty confident they would be sweet this time.

* * *

~ end ~